


Desire Rearranged

by kurgaya



Series: Hallucinogenic Gentleman [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/F, Female Ichigo, Female Tōshirō, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The weapon choice of an individual can say a lot about them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desire Rearranged

**Author's Note:**

> Once again I'm picking pieces of Kubo's canon that I want and ignoring the rest. No Fullbringer or Thousand Year Blood War arcs, but unlike the rest of my fic where Ichigo has his former oversized khyber knife that we all know and love, here he's got his true khyber knife and trench knife duo. Oh, and he still has quincy heritage. Just because.
> 
> (And he's a 'she'... obviously)
> 
> Scenarios 1 and 5 contain semi-graphic violence. The rest are a mix of fluff, humour, and drama.

**1\. SPEAR**

They take away her zanpakuto but Tōshirō will damn them to hell if they think that'll stop her.

Hyorinmaru's fragmented cry is excruciating nevertheless, but a dragon is fuelled by power and a spear of ice is born from the fury of his revenge. Shaped by the ruthless breath of a blizzard it seems a controversial choice of weapon for a woman who has mastered the katana, but Tōshirō appreciates the bitter strength of the lance in her heated, blistered grip.

Her opponent, who would not be worth mentioning had his companion not detonated a crater in the side of Fukuoka's largest office building, regards the new weapon with a smug smirk that twists his bloody features into a deeper expression of malice. Tōshirō maintains her calm indifference, thankful that the Arrancar cannot hear the adrenalised thundering of her heart. The attack had taken her completely unaware – she hadn't expected to be hunted by the remnants of Aizen's betrayal so far from Karakura. Yet she is a captain and a few measly Hollow aren't enough to take her down, even if her sight is blurry in one eye, her hands and head ache, and somewhere in the chaos of the human city Ichigo's reiryoku is struggling to pulse.

"That's a delicate little weapon you've got there," the Arrancar taunts.

Tōshirō adjusts her stance and allows herself to breathe. Her opponent is an ignorant fool if he believes the spear, twice Hyorinmaru's length and created by the strongest ice in the entire Soul Society, is a _delicate little_ thing. Spears are challenging to defend against even in the hands of an amateur, and Tōshirō has trained with this weapon for years. It may appear nothing more than a breakable twig, but there's a reason they are historically a favoured weapon in combat.

She supposes her enemies often have that misconception about her figure as well.

Their loss.

The Arrancar charges forward and carves recklessly with his blade. The captain dances back, gauging his perceptions of her skill. He doesn't appear terribly concerned about the lance, preferring to hack at her swift presence with the carnivorous intent of a predator. She has to give him some credit – he has already reduced her to a state where she is growing troubled about her injuries – but he clearly believes he has gained the upper hand by stripping her of Hyorinmaru's katana.

Tōshirō adores wielding a spear. Sometimes she ponders why her zanpakuto didn't materialise into one upon the revelation of its name and abilities. Then she reminds herself that her second favourite part of battle is wiping confident leers off of her opponents' face, and what better way to do that than to disguise her skill? She would 'lose' Hyorinmaru more often in battle if the ferocious spirit didn't feel the need to protest.

Loyal to a fault, she is.

At least Hyorinmaru humours her by crafting a spear when she's in danger.

Loyal to a fault, he is too.

The tempo of the fight shifts. The spear thrusts forward with snake-like lethality and drives through the Arrancar's shoulder, digging through blood and bone and flesh before retracting and striking again. Tōshirō's opponent drops a gurgled noise and tries to retreat out of range, but her dotted, black vision hounds his hasty movements. The katana is too short to return the blows of the diamond spearhead. He yells and hisses and spits in her face, but the captain has heard worse than death as she plunges her frozen fang into his chest.

The Arrancar spasms once and then disintegrates.

Tōshirō waits until the spear dislodges from his ribs before reeling it back in. Dizzy, she shoves the bloodied head into the ground to balance the sickly sway of her body. She must black out for a second or two, for when the captain blinks again the city buildings are slanted and oblivious human feet are scrambling through her. The roar of her heart cannot silence the terror of the hundreds of people around her and she grits her teeth. It is disconcerting to not exist to so many.

"Get a grip," Tōshirō hisses at herself, forcing her limbs up off the street.

Her bloody handprints search for the familiar hilt of her zanpakuto. Her agitated reiatsu hunts the wreck for her partner's fire.

Hyorinmaru hums when she finds him. Ichigo's reiatsu clings to her own when she feels the steady spark of its burn.

"Fuck the guy who has to clean up this mess," she declares as the first step towards the destroyed block is taken. The spear melts out of existence but Hyorinmaru remains drawn. The human city of Fukuoka is easily triple the size of Karakura and Tōshirō doesn't trust that something else isn't waiting to tear her throat out as she staggers towards wherever Ichigo is. Wary, she searches her pockets for any pain relief pills. None are found, though the alarm on her phone has quietened, which is a thankful sign.

But there _is_ a memory modifier in her pocket.

"Bollocks," she says.

What a great day off this is.

* * *

**2\. KITCHEN KNIFE**

The most profound thing Ichigo can bring herself to utter when she shuffles into the apartment kitchen is "eh?"

Her bouncy, five foot flatmate almost knocks the shinigami captain off of the stool in her excitement at Ichigo's appearance. Chihiro, squealing like the immature twenty-two year old she is, radiates delighted energy as the substitute hauls two plastic bags of shopping onto the table. Ichigo watches her enthusiasm in the corner of her eyes, more intent on staring at the figure of her girlfriend chopping pepperoni at the counter.

"Ichigo, honey, you didn't tell us she was cute!" cries Chihiro, the shine of her smile making Tōshirō wince, a helpless flutter passing across her expression.

Ichigo isn't quite sure what to say so she laughs nervously at her friend and slides over to the captain. Tucking her hands behind her back so that her two flatmates (not that Chihiro's boyfriend is even in the kitchen) can't accuse her of anything, the ginger peers over Tōshirō's shoulder to survey the range of ingredients.

"We're making pizza!" Chihiro continues, as if the rolling pin, tomato purée, cheese, and other obvious components of a pizza aren't enough of a sign. "Tōshirō's wonderful – I don't know where you found her, honestly."

Though Ichigo appreciates her friend's energetic devotion to just about everything she does, Chihiro's pretentious streak is difficult to ignore. Luckily her boyfriend and fellow flatmate is adaptable and patient enough to put up with whatever is flaunted his way. Ichigo likes Kouhei. He's always willing to help out her if she can succeed in tearing him away from the Xbox.

"Thank you, Akera-san," says Tōshirō smoothly, diffusing any chances of tension. She wipes the knife on her apron (which Ichigo didn't even know they owned) and moves to arrange the meat slices onto the pizza base. Ichigo remains silent as she does, desperate to ask her girlfriend _what the hell was going on_ but unwilling to forcibly kick Chihiro out of the kitchen.

"Christ," says the raven haired young woman just a minute later, rubbing at her bare arms across the room. "Is there a window open Tōshirō-san? It's gotten really cold."

Tōshirō checks the nearest window with a perfect air of innocence – it's still closed – and Ichigo has to fight to keep her expression level. Chihiro continues to grumble about the temperature and then decides she can't be imagining it, dashing off down the hall to find a cardigan.

Ichigo smacks her lips together and then grins. "What a coincidence."

"Humans," Tōshirō mutters. "No resilience." She shakes her head, but Ichigo loves that she doesn't look as threatening as usual while wearing a stripy blue apron and humungous oven gloves.

"Shinigami," Ichigo returns with a smirk. "No concept of warning ahead before they turn up at peoples' houses."

She laughs at Tōshirō's murderous expression. The captain pushes the oven door shut and sets the oven gloves aside with a huff. Ichigo tentatively reaches for her, adopting a hopeful expression. When the older shinigami tilts her head in invitation, the ginger twenty-one year old pulls her in for a hug.

"Got coerced into spending time with my flatmates did you?" she asks, whispering down into Tōshirō's ear so that Chihiro and Kouhei (wherever he is) don't overhear their conversation.

"I might not have realised they were in," Tōshirō admits.

"Please tell me you didn't climb in through the window." While Ichigo finds the idea absolutely hilarious, her two human flatmates would probably not respond in quite the same fashion to Tōshirō's wall-scaling habits. No doubt a lot of questions would arise that Tōshirō would rather not answer – they have a second floor apartment on the outskirts of Fukuoka's city centre after all.

The captain tuts. It is answer enough. "I was going to, but I bumped into Akera-san on the front steps. Once she realised who I was I couldn't really get out of the invitation for dinner."

"Which _you're_ cooking," Ichigo adds, incredulous at the idea of the guest preparing dinner. "I didn't know you could cook."

"I can work with knives," Tōshirō defends proudly, pushing away from the hug. Her girlfriend lets her go, aware that clinging on would result in an uncomfortable, firm rejection. She starts to tidy up the counter and Ichigo automatically helps guide all of the appliances back to their homes.

" _But_?" the substitute shinigami prompts, because despite only dating the ice wielder for little less than a year they have been friends for five, and she _knows_ there are more words hanging on the end of that sentence.

Scowling, Tōshirō mutters something and glares venomously. Yet tight-lipped and stubborn, she refuses to say anymore. Before Ichigo can prompt it out of her Chihiro skips back into the kitchen, sprouting some madness about 'video games' and 'DVDs'. Since there is nothing she can do to get out of the 'bonding time' that her flatmates have devised, Ichigo lets the conversation dwell untouched for the rest of the evening. Chihiro is absolutely smitten with Tōshirō – which is terrifying and downright hilarious – but Kouhei is calmer around the captain, almost as if he can tell there is something unusual about her. Tōshirō is politically polite to the two humans, her raging temper and fiery wit tucked deep inside her persona in the presence of strangers, and Ichigo is torn between feeling saddened and giddy at the concealment of the side of the captain that she is privy to see.

The pizza tastes amazing and the company is even better, and Ichigo is content. Tōshirō is cruelly flattened in 'Need For Speed' in every race, but she earns her revenge when they salvage a 'Cluedo' board from somewhere. Ichigo is awful at 'Cluedo' and it shows, but even Kouhei's love for the game is no match for the captain's perception and intellect. Chihiro sulks until Ichigo remembers that she bought ice cream while shopping earlier, and it only takes half a second for the woman to regain her spirit and drag her boyfriend into the kitchen to find it.

"Sorry about all this," the substitute says, shrugging helplessly at the petite form in the armchair. Their apartment isn't used to more than three inhabitants, so Ichigo has had to make do with one of the wobbly kitchen chairs.

Tōshirō doesn't appear irritated at how she's had to spend her afternoon. Ichigo won't admit how happy that makes her.

"It's no bother," says the Tenth Division captain softly. "Though I will have to return soon – I don't trust Matsumoto not to have caused havoc."

Amused, Ichigo says, "Rangiku-san _must_ be reliable in some aspects?"

"Not paperwork," grumbles the captain with a frown, but it is to be noted that paperwork is the only feature she mentions.

"I wonder why she didn't join the Eighth Division?" Ichigo ponders aloud, which is exactly the moment Chihiro bounces back in with a bowl of ice cream and demands;

"What's the Eighth Division?"

Ichigo's expression of horror morphs into scandalised amusement when Tōshirō glides over to the curious human and blows up a memory modifier in her face. Kouhei sticking his head around the doorway to see what's going on results in the same treatment, and before the smoke clears away Tōshirō is slipping back into her seat with a neutral aura, all without missing a beat.

Chihiro and Kouhei hesitate for a moment and then return to the kitchen.

Ichigo is quiet for a long time. "You've been doing that all day."

It isn't a question.

Tōshirō's lips quirk upwards faintly. "I'm good with knives," she repeats flatly, as if that explains everything. "But not with ovens."

* * *

**3\. HIGH HEELS**

"Oh fuck me," Ichigo blurts, detaching herself from Tōshirō's side and weaving back through the crowd of people in the shopping centre. "Did you see those _shoes_?"

She plants herself in front of the thick glass display and bends over to get a closer look. Her shoulder bag swings down and bounces off the window but she pays no mind to it. Tōshirō shuffles closer with her hands in her jean pockets and regards the shop with a disinterested expression.

"Which ones am I supposed to be looking at?" she inquires.

Ichigo sighs longingly and points at a precarious pair of dark blue high heels. They even have a bow. She whines, glaring through the glass as if the shoes have intentionally designed themselves to cause offense (which they probably have). "They'd clash with my hair."

It is the _single most_ feminine thing Tōshirō has ever seen or heard Ichigo say and she doesn't know how to reply.

"Uh."

The shoes are ghastly.

Ichigo clearly isn't bothered by her girlfriend's lack of empathy as she strides into the shop. Tōshirō hesitates in the doorway, wary of the determination in the substitute's step. Ichigo's eyebrows are set and her hazel eyes are vigilant, and she disappears into the maze of a shop muttering to herself. The shinigami captain glances around at the people passing by and then checks the time on her phone. She contemplates following Ichigo in, but decides that it's probably safer to remain outside and out of the way. Shopping trips with Matsumoto have taught her little more.

Thankfully, Ichigo returns just ten minutes later. Tōshirō glances up from the game on her phone with relief and watches a cardboard box being pulled out of a new plastic bag. The younger woman is smiling brightly, pleased at whatever she has bought, and though Tōshirō doesn't see the appeal of high heels she can't fault them for making Ichigo happy.

The ginger reveals the pair of shoes she has purchased. They're black and made of a strange soft yet firm material that the captain cannot place, but there is nothing extravagant about them. Even the heel is only a couple of inches, and Tōshirō's eyebrows rise in automatic surprise.

"Sometimes I like to feel pretty," admits Ichigo with an awkward, melancholy smile. "But then I remember that heels are uncomfortable and I can't really walk in them anyway. These are alright though."

Tōshirō doesn't confess that she thinks Ichigo is prettiest when she's crawling around the Tenth Division office searching for coffee to wake her from the nap she hadn't meant to take. By that point her sunlight hair is a raging fire jagging out in hundreds of directions and her obi is trailing along behind her from where it's come undone in her sleep. Her yawn is a lion's roar and her gaze is sluggish and blind, so Tōshirō always ensures to brew a cup of coffee when she sees the substitute stirring.

Ichigo is beautifully unattractive in the mornings.

Unaware of this, the ginger swaps her trainers for the heels and walks a careful lap around her partner. She stands straight and confident in her new height, and where her face lifts in delight, Tōshirō's falls in displeasure.

"What?" Ichigo probes, searching the complexion of the woman below her.

The captain smacks her lips together expectantly and tilts her head back to make her point.

Towering over her, Ichigo laughs.

* * *

**4\. HANDS**

Ichigo melts into a placid, compliant mess the moment somebody starts playing with her hair. Fortunately it is Tōshirō's hands who command and indulge her; a welcome touch to the sporadic inferno that she insistently tries to pass as ginger. The captain is happy to trail her fingers through the substitute's choppy mane as she works, the reports she has to read through balanced on the sofa arm. Her free hand alternates between writing and grasping around for her teacup; the other rarely halts its ministrations. Ichigo's side of the conversation gradually quells into drowsy hums and smiles at the care.

It is getting late. She is lying across the sofa, hands resting on her stomach. Her head is in Tōshirō's lap and the captain probably cannot feel her leg from the time they have spent in this position. Ichigo is sure she had drifted off earlier – just for ten minutes maybe – but she is wide awake now, watching Tōshirō's expression twinge at her subordinates' work. The content of said work is unknown to Ichigo, but she finds amusement in hazarding guesses as to what makes her girlfriend frown and scowl the most. Once, Toshiro had snorted her drink up her nose. Trepidation drove Ichigo to peek at the report to see what the fuss was about.

That the wiser captain is unaware that she is being lovingly observed is unlikely. Yet work demands her attention so Tōshirō remains transfixed on her task; Ichigo has learnt not to feel neglected if they do not speak for hours. The hand in her hair indicates otherwise anyway, and the ginger is content to silently appreciate her partner and offer wordless encouragement if needed. This usually takes the form of prods and pokes, playful smiles, and endless tea refills. But sometimes – only occasionally – Ichigo traces the end of her girlfriend's black kosode, folding the fabric between her fingers, and presses her face into the round of Tōshirō's tummy as if she's _really_ inspiring work.

" _Ichigo_ ," the captain murmurs. She stops writing but continues playing with the hair in her lap.

The substitute smiles against the unblemished skin and peers up at the raised eyebrow and thin lips. "Go back to work," she encourages, lifting more of the kosode away. Her other hand comes around to join the smirking mouth in adoring her partner's figure.

The teacup clinks against the desk. A good sign.

"You're making it difficult," Tōshirō remarks.

Ichigo laughs. " _Am I?_ " She tucks her hand around the captain's waist, tickling the base of her spine, but then earnestly adds, "Do you want me to stop?"

Tōshirō's own hand pauses, settled in the wildfire. Her bottom lip is tucked under her teeth, pink and sore from her indecision, so Ichigo removes the icy touch from her head and brings the fingers down to kiss. It is a tiny movement – hardly noticeable – but Tōshirō shifts her weight on the sofa at the affection. Ichigo continues, trailing her warm fingertips up and down the captain's spine.

"I can stop," she repeats.

The paperwork flops next to the teacup. A _very_ good sign.

"No," Tōshirō mutters in her typical tone. "Go on."

Victorious, Ichigo kisses the hand she has captured again. "Freeze the door shut would you?"

The wooden entrance creaks and crackles even before Tōshirō huffs, " _Someone's_ confident."

Ichigo smiles herself silly and returns to making her girlfriend squirm.

* * *

**5\. DAGGER**

" _Chihiro_ ," Ichigo hisses through her teeth. She reaches out to grasp the bony elbow of her tottering, giggling friend before she's registered the motion, acutely aware that they that both look stunning in knee length party dresses and matching heels. Chihiro's dress is more fitted than Ichigo's, and her shoes are definitely more dangerous, and though their miniature bags contain little more than the bare necessities (phone, purse, and keys), Ichigo curses herself for not bringing her largest, most atrocious winter coat with her.

Mix supernatural shinigami ability with a woman's shrewd instinct for survival and you've got a deadly force on your hands.

Chihiro spins around to face her, grinning wildly. She's had a tad too much to drink. On the other hand Ichigo is stone cold sober, and it's probably this that prompts the ruby smile to slide off of Chihiro's shining face.

"Keep walking," whispers Ichigo, still refusing to let her friend out of her clutch. "Don't panic. We're being followed."

The responding "Fucking hell" is the most cognisant sentence Ichigo's heard her friend utter in hours. "Where?" squeaks the dark haired woman, and the substitute has to hastily tug her into not turning around to look.

Just one man. Broad. Six foot at least. His gait is twice as large as theirs but he's minding his time, watching them avidly. Ichigo only knows he's there because the amount of sugary drinks she consumed at the party has relaxed her hold on her reiryoku so that it's spilling out all over the streets. He had caught her attention some minutes ago but she had thought it was just her shinigami awareness over-reacting.

Nothing beats a woman's intuition.

She could kick herself for being such an idiot.

Chihiro is trembling. Ichigo surveys the street for an escape route, but they're in the centre of the residential housing labyrinth and there's little around but dark corners and high brick walls. She itches for Zangetsu or any sort of weapon, but all she has are her fists and shoes (though she could probably carve someone's eye out with those). Her shinigami form would be useless anyway – the man is completely human so she wouldn't be able to hurt him. Plus it would only further terrify Chihiro, who sounds as if she's starting to hyperventilate.

 _Think_ , Ichigo tells herself. _Dark street. Two humans. Can't draw Zangetsu. Can't use kido. Can't –_

A terrible shriek explodes out of Chihiro's lips. Ichigo shoves her out of the way and leans back as the whistle of a blade slices through the dead midnight air. In the amber glow of a distant streetlight, now she can see that their assailant is wearing both a hat and a hood, has a bulging, spotty nose, and is definitely as enormous and overwhelming as she thought. Though the dagger he advances with worries her, as she stumbles down the pavement in her brand new heels, the first thought that passes through Ichigo's brain is that he's old enough to be her _father_.

"Run Chihiro!" is what her second thought vocalises into.

The man lunges with the intention of knocking Ichigo aside to get to Chihiro, but the shinigami snarls and blocks the movement, catching his wrist at the last second before the dagger thrusts itself into her waist. Chihiro screams and scrambles down the alley, sobbing something Ichigo can't make out, and the attacker hisses and throws Ichigo aside. The street punches her blind as one of her heels snap, but half a second later the substitute shinigami is kicking off her shoes and launching herself at the man. He swears violently and tries to swat her away as if she's a pest, but Ichigo would rather go to hell than let some _creep_ hurt her friend.

"Chihiro!" she screams, desperate to ensure the safety of her flatmate when she knows that hand to hand combat with a man twice her size and wielding a dagger is not a fight she'll come out unscathed. "For god's sake, _run_!"

Tears and snot blurring her eyes and makeup, she runs. Relief flourishes in Ichigo's chest as she watches the scarlet dress disappear into the darkness, which is the one of the most stupid things she's ever done to date as her attacker fists her dress and crushes her against the wall. He growls something – something low and vile – but it is bogged by the stench of his intoxicating breath. Ichigo spits in his face and grapples for the blade. Her palms are sweaty with fear. His are iron shackles around her wrist. She wonders which bone will fracture first.

Roaring, she head-butts him and hears a satisfying _crack_. His agony gives her time to wrench herself free and thrust her elbow into his face for a follow-up; he swings blindly with the blade and Ichigo scarcely flattens herself against the wall in time to prevent her decapitation. Instead, the dagger slices open her cheek and nose in compensation for the damage she caused, and hot blood splatters across the wall.

Ichigo kicks him wildly, wishing that she still had her heels on for extra effect.

"Asshole!" she screams.

He punches her in the face. She ducks out of the way of the next strike, crossing her arms to shield her throat as she whirls back into the open street. There is blood dripping down her neck and fear trailing down her spine – Ichigo hasn't felt this frightened in years and she loathes it. If she manages to walk away from this fight with all her fingers and toes attached she's going to demand someone help touch up her close combat skills.

And Chihiro's.

 _Christ_.

What if there was another attacker? What if Chihiro had just run straight into a trap? What is she was lost? Hurt? _Dead_? How would she tell Kouhei? How would they tell her parents?

She has to get away. She has to find Chihiro. Ichigo straightens up and twists away from the staggered dive of the assailant, tracking the swift movements of the dagger with a gaze worthy of Hyorinmaru's wrath. (Tōshirō might never forgive her if she dies here). Breathing deep, the substitute soothes her raging heartbeat and relaxes her limbs. Her opponent is still bigger, stronger, and heavier, but Ichigo tightens her reiatsu around her like armour and evades him as best she can. She isn't as agile as Tōshirō so the blade nicks her occasionally in the enclosed alley, spraying her blood across the pavement and splattering it down her dress.

Unknown minutes pass before he succeeds in entrapping her again. Luckily Ichigo had knocked the dagger from the fight some time ago, but then she had to focus on wrestling him away from where it had fallen. He is livid now; her defence was unexpected and he's wasted so much time and revealed too much of his appearance, and Ichigo is sure she could recall his face by instinct. It isn't a simple mugging anymore – he cannot let her get away now.

"Picked the wrong target didn't you?" she sneers, struggling against the predacious weight of his body. Taunting him isn't going to make her life any easier, but it infuriates him and she feels a wild sense of satisfaction at the purple splodges on his brawny face.

"Stupid bitch," he spits, tearing at her dress and her hair to try and keep her still.

Sirens scream in the distance; the night is blinded by scarlet light.

"Stupid fucker," she hisses back.

He hits her in rapid succession again and again and again, and then jerks himself away and bolts. Ichigo vomits blood onto the sidewalk and doesn't watch him flee. Her dress won't hold itself together. She feels cold as she kneels down so she rubs desperately at the scratches on her arms to generate some warmth. If her father were here, he'd be gently informing her that she was going into shock.

But he's not here and Ichigo can work out her physiological state for herself.

The dagger glints in the approaching police lights.

She doesn't feel like a legendary shinigami warrior anymore.

* * *

**6\. TEACUP**

It is barely an hour past dawn when somebody knocks on the door to her quarters. Tōshirō nearly doesn't hear it (or perhaps she subconsciously decides to ignore it) over the pleasant hum of her shower, but then it echoes again – harsh and tired and tangled with Renji Abarai's reiryoku.

"Oh for god's sake," the captain grumbles. Wondering if shooing him away with a miniature ice dragon would be considered morally unacceptable, Tōshirō turns off the shower and huffs as the soothing warm touch dwindles from her aching, cold shoulders. The pools of water trapped around her feet freeze, and with an exasperated hand wave the ice zips out of the bathroom and slides open the front door to her quarters.

In the hallway Renji makes a sound of disbelief and almost slips over the ice as he steps inside. Grudgingly sliding into a yukata, Tōshirō hears his strangled yelp. Her smile is smothered as she opens the bathroom door, and then completely drops off her face as she spies the reason why the Sixth Division lieutenant requires her attention.

"Err," Renji says helplessly, an either extraordinarily intoxicated or hung-over Ichigo Kurosaki dangling off of his arm. "Sorry to bother you, Captain Hitsugaya."

He averts his gaze from her dripping wet state of undress and hisses something into the auburn hair. Ichigo giggles in reply and tries to take a step forward. Approaching like the eye of a storm, Tōshirō regards her partner's attempt and then does nothing as Ichigo wobbles and collapses in the space between the two sober shinigami.

Renji goes to help his friend but Tōshirō holds out her hand. The lieutenant reels back, looking uncertain, and hovers by the doorway. The substitute on the floor starts to mumble.

"Is she drunk or hung-over?" asks the captain coolly, though Ichigo's actions say it all.

The lieutenant stumbles over his words, regarding her ferocity and deciding that the captain is rapidly veering towards dangerous. "Err – well – drunk. And a bit hung-over I guess. She hasn't exactly gone to sleep yet."

"It's six o'clock in the morning."

He laughs anxiously. "It was a good party?"

The ice on the floor cracks. Renji whines. Tōshirō is one hundred per cent convinced her glare could kill.

"Leave her with me," she says, though the lieutenant hasn't once shown an incentive to move Ichigo anywhere else. "Thank you for bringing her here. I trust she has all her belongings?"

"Oh yeah!" Renji pulls out a large purse from the depths of his pockets and hands it over. "All her stuff's here."

Tōshirō unlatches it and checks anyway. Once satisfied, she waves the lieutenant away. He disappears with a shunpo and doesn't look back. The captain sets the purse down on the chest of drawers and then drops her gaze to her blubbering girlfriend. Since Ichigo hasn't moved an inch since falling over, Tōshirō _almost_ decides to ignore this budding problem and get back into the shower. But Ichigo looks pitiful on the floor – though it's her own fault she's there – so the ice wielder squashes her frustration and kneels down beside the befuddled substitute.

"Can you get up?" she asks, judging how difficult moving the giggling lump across the room will be.

Ichigo stares at her with an expression of wonder and then breaks out into a childish grin.

Very difficult.

Twenty minutes later Ichigo is staring at the bottom of a teacup, groaning about a headache and wishing the painkillers would kick in faster. Tōshirō feels no sympathy and continues patting her hair dry with a towel. It is almost an innocently domestic scene, except the captain is sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor and her partner is crumpled in the base of the shower, full-clothed, sopping wet, and still unable to fully comprehend that it's not raining.

The thick panel of glass is not currently the only obstacle between the normality of their romantic relationship.

"Christ," says the substitute, her forehead pressed against the shower. "How much did I fucking drink?"

 _At least she's sounding more coherent now_ , Tōshirō muses, refusing to show the relief on her face. Instead she adopts her 'Unohana-level scary' expression and lets it do most of the talking for her. Ichigo glances at it occasionally and whimpers. It's the only reason she's still willingly sitting in the shower.

"I don't even know," she goes on, answering her own question. "Oh my god my head hurts. What time is it?"

Tōshirō lets the towel drop to the floor with a 'thwump'.

"Forget I asked," Ichigo immediately whines. She squints through the shower wall. "Where am I?"

"You're in my quarters," the captain assures. It's the only kind thing she has uttered since waking up. Ichigo pulls a surprised face and then smiles against the glass, smearing it with her lip balm. Tōshirō rolls her eyes and hangs the wet towel back up. She pulls her yukata tighter around her frame as she slips into the shower and turns off the water, stepping over her partner all the while.

Ichigo grunts. "Is it morning?"

"Yes," states Tōshirō, glaring down at her. "Give me the teacup."

"But I like this teacup."

"Don't argue with me while I'm naked," the captain snaps, filching the mug and treading carefully around her drunken girlfriend. The whine Ichigo emits is more of a whistle than a groan, and Tōshirō ignores the sloshed cognition until inquiring fingers tug the end of her yukata.

"You're naked under there?"

Tōshirō smacks the wandering hands away. The ferocious snarl of a dragon resounds around the bathroom. There is no mistaking the threat behind the sound.

Ichigo swallows. "Err," she mutters in her terror, blinking innocently at the growling captain. She pats the cloth she had been fiddling with, trying to glue it to Tōshirō's leg. "You look lovely?"

" _Do I_."

Tōshirō is yet to step out of the shower. Though she is wielding nothing but a teacup, she holds Ichigo's fate in the chilling claws of a vehement monster. The air around her seems to crackle in Hyorinmaru's sub-zero breath. The water that drips from the showerhead clinks into the drain, frozen with fear.

The next words out of Ichigo's mouth are voiced with a petrified gradualness. "I mean… you look… dangerous?"

A beat. A millennia.

"Good."

The captain strides out of the bathroom.

* * *

**7\. BOW & ARROW**

"This really isn't working."

Uryu Ishida rolls his eyes opposite her, but there's no denying that his expression is one of complete agreement. Ichigo sighs for the nth time and relaxes her arms, her worn fingers already itching for her _sensible_ and _practical_ zanpakuto. Zangetsu is a comfort to hold; the bow she is trying to create out of the reishi around her is not.

"It was worth a try," continues the shinigami-quincy-human-whatever she is hybrid. "I just – don't want to use a bow."

"Is it a surprise that you're struggling with that attitude?" Uryu replies, but he doesn't sound as irritated as she expected.

Still, they're friends so she snaps, "Piss off" with a smile.

He glares at her over the top of his glasses.

They've been exploring Ichigo's quincy abilities for the best part of four hours, and though she is delighted to find that some aspects of her mother's powers were passed down to her, she's still the world's worst quincy in the majority of aspects. Neither she nor Uryu really knew what to expect when they arrived at the Tenth Division training hall except peace and quiet and a huge amount of chaos, and Ichigo isn't as disappointed as she thought she might be. Her ability to use the defensive blut was established remarkably early, but like most of her combat skills it's a strictly instinctive skill and she hasn't grasped how to use it intentionally yet. Hirenkyaku is totally hit and miss – it's a faster form of shunpo and it exhilarates her – but when prompted by her friend to speed up her movements she still automatically deters to the shinigami version.

She's not particularly bothered about this. It's her abysmal attempt at forming a bow – the most _fundamental_ and _iconic_ part of being a quincy – that frustrates her. Uryu seems more amused at her failings than anything, and Ichigo watches him gather up his equipment with a sour emotion churning in her gut. She's not a jealous person by nature. She doesn't really have any right to be jealous when she already has Zangetsu and everything else she could possible ever want, but Ichigo still kicks herself as the session draws to a close. Running a hand through her sticky fringe she growls, and the other quincy glances over towards her.

His expression shifts from surprised to neutral and then softens because he's her friend, not her teacher. "Stop beating yourself up Kurosaki. It's not all that unexpected that you can't do everything."

As they trek back over to the seating where Tōshirō and Orihime are guarding an abdominal amount of sugary snacks, the characteristic frown deepens into Ichigo's flushed complexion.

"But the _bow_ ," she argues. "I've got the stupid cross – I _should_ be able to make the bow."

The cross dangling from her wrist is thrust in his face for emphasis. It is standard equipment and an act of proof that she has inherited the abilities to mark her as a quincy. She is warmed to possess it, though it's clearly useless in a functional sense since it's _supposed_ to assist her focus a bow.

"No, I don't think that's true," says Uryu. "You're half shinigami and half human – it makes sense for you to excel in some aspects and struggle with others. You're not a perfect shinigami – you can't do a single bit of kido, can you? And you're not a perfect quincy either – you can use the hirenkyaku and blut but can't concentrate reishi enough for a bow. I think that's partly because you're using your quincy skill instinctively – they're a last defence when your shinigami skills aren't enough to protect you. But _together_ , what you lack from your father is compensated by your mother, and vice versa. There's no need for you to summon a bow when you already have your zanpakuto."

He takes off his glasses and gives them a wipe. Ichigo opens and closes her mouth a few times, trying to comprehend what he's just told her.

"I –" she says eventually, shaking her head. Having not looked at it that way before she doesn't know what to reply with, but what he's saying makes sense. All this time she's been trying to put herself in both a 'shinigami' and 'quincy' category and growing frustrated when her powers don't fit.

But she's not either.

She's both.

"I'm a Venn diagram," she mutters in astonishment, taking a bottle of water and a packet of chocolate biscuits from Orihime. All the training has made her hungry, so she gobbles through the snack and flops down next to Tōshirō, her mind still reeling.

Uryu looks like he wants to say something in reply to that, but nibbling through his own food he can't say anything. Instead, Tōshirō picks up his train of thought as she gratefully takes her cup of (surely really cold?) tea from Orihime.

"You can be whatever you want," she says flatly, laying a hand on Ichigo's thigh. They don't often publically display affection, but the occasional brush of fingers or hug is appreciated.

Ichigo chokes around the biscuit. Orihime laughs and launches into the functionality of Ichigo turning into a Venn diagram and how exactly she would go about living her life as two overlapping circles on a piece of paper.

Nobody questions her.

Nobody ever questions Ichigo's quincy abilities either.

* * *

**8\. KIDO**

Ichigo doesn't know the whole picture, having been unaware of Soul Society's existence before the Winter War and the chaos that followed, but over the subsequent years as she moves out of Karakura and starts her own adult life, she notices that the Gotei Thirteen's highest ranked officers start to take their training a little more seriously.

That's not to say they weren't serious before – perhaps that isn't the best word for the situation – but as she catches up with her friends, her comrades, and her girlfriend, Ichigo can't help but think the captains' and lieutenants' training has become rather… public.

Which _also_ isn't the greatest word for it (since training isn't a circus), but there's definitely less secret middle-of-the-night training going on, and more don't-disturb-us-but-we're-using-this-hall-at-four-o'clock-in-the-afternoon training going on.

Ichigo thinks it's fantastic. For her, because both the lieutenants and the captains invite her to take part so she gets to kick their arses more often, and for the divisions' officers who now know that Seireitei's reigning shinigami are getting stronger and stronger all of the time. Though they cannot see it taking place, they can often _feel_ it.

Of course, Ichigo does get her own arse handed to her from time to time. Fighting the lieutenants is fun, but pitting herself against the captains is _interesting_. They set rules and boundaries – no bankai, first blood, that sort of thing – and Ichigo does struggle under the restrictions. Though she is a powerhouse above the league of most of the captains, her lack of experience hinders her. Some captains – Byakuya and Sajin Komamura being the most frequent – she can hold her own against well. (Sparring against Komamura is brilliant. One slip up and he is capable of _hurling_ her across the training hall with his colossal paws. Many bruises have resulted from the gravel kicking her senseless. He always checks if she's okay afterwards though; a pat on the shoulder, an inquisitive eye. He's a great big furry teddy bear and she really wants to give him a hug).

But there are some captains that are so challenging that she gets nervous even thinking about fighting them. The first time she stepped up against Shunsui Kyoraku her friends called her 'nuts' and told her not to be surprised if she ended up at the Fourth – which was accurate, retrospectively. Kyoraku had to call in a medic because he'd sliced open her shoulder and she was gushing blood all over the ground. Yet it never deterred her from bouncing back up and giving it another go. She learns so much from all the defeats at the experienced dual wielder's hands and she loves it. Ichigo thinks he enjoys it too – they've gotten closer over the past few years and he always has a smile for her when she visits the Eighth Division.

Her friendship with Kyoraku extends to Ukitake as well (they're a package deal). The gentle captain of the Thirteenth is already friends with Tōshirō, so Ichigo slots into the little group without any trouble. The two elder shinigami gradually become uncle figures for her; they teach her what they know and guide her when they can't. Teatime with Ukitake is timetabled weekly, though Ichigo cannot always make it due to her human life. Drinking with Kyoraku occurs every now and then too, but she is wary not to drink too much under Tōshirō's scrutinising gaze. (They don't need a repeat of the shower incident).

It is not only the dual wielding captains that spare the time to give Ichigo a few pointers. Yoruichi hounds her to perfect her shunpo. Uryu appears every so often to check her quincy abilities, though as they have separate responsibilities in their lives this isn't ever for long. Kenpachi is just a maniac and Ichigo goes out of her way to avoid him, but since this isn't always possible she rationalises that at least fighting him is good for breakneck survival.

Unohana provides her with medical knowledge specific to the functioning of shinigami, and Kukaku gives her a crash course on basic kido but Ichigo still can't get her head (or hands) around the concept. This doesn't bother her as much as it used to – she has both Zangetsu and her mother's inheritance, which she argues is more than enough to handle anything that is thrown her way.

It's not.

Training does have its risks, but in a controlled environment with participants who aren't aiming to maim or kill, it's an utter mock of a real battle. Combatants are rarely in any extreme danger, and though the captains like to win they scarcely ever play outrageously dirty to get their way. The trusting mind-set that Ichigo develops over time is ultimately her downfall, so she reasons it's just as well she's taken advantage of while training and not while lives are truly in peril.

Justifying Kyoraku's motives doesn't change what happens.

It's before lunch and Ichigo has managed to drag Tōshirō away from the confines of her division. Along with Ukitake there are only four of them in the Eighth Division sparring grounds, and officers of all three divisions know not to disturb them unless it's an emergency. Interrupting a captain-level training session can have consequences, so they ward the doorways to protect the building and any subordinates who wander too close to their raging reiatsu. Tōshirō and Ukitake are sparring in the centre of the training hall. Ichigo is sharing a plate of cookies with the jolly Eighth Division captain, alternating between chatting aimlessly about their afternoon and cheering their friends on.

Kyoraku has been teaching her how to effectively wield two blades; he throws in kido now and then, as if to prompt her body into finally understanding it, but Ichigo repetitively argues that it's a lost cause.

"It's okay, I don't really need it," she insists with a shrug.

The aged captain gives her a funny sort of look. Ichigo isn't particularly paying attention at that point, immersed in observing how Tōshirō and Hyorinmaru dance, so the eruption of hellish shadows spilling through crevices in the floor and ceiling are abrupt in their wreckage to her halcyon demeanour. White hot cord blasts her out of the stands, but with the midnight claws grappling at her arms, legs, and face, Ichigo struggles to perceive what is going on around her. Terror grips the irrationality of the situation; she kicks wildly, Zangetsu's fire scattering dust. Her eyes blink white and then blur with pain. There could be blood and death but she has no idea – she yells and the shadows recede, but her arms remain locked at her back as her ears finally stop ringing.

A wave of thick, choking reiatsu overwhelms her. Darkness pools around her like blood. Ichigo bites through her lip at the familiar sensation. She tastes fear. Tōshirō is screaming in the distance. She tastes hatred. Thrashing harder doesn't break the chains around her wrists; she head-butts the ground instead and hisses through the ache of her sight returning.

"Calm down," Kyoraku soothes, standing next to where she's twisted in the middle of the training hall. All Ichigo can see of him are his feet but she snarls at them all the same. " _Ichigo_ ," he adds fiercely, as if she's in the wrong. "Take a breath and assess your surroundings. How are you going to get out of this?"

"By _breaking your neck_ ," she growls. The cries of Tōshirō's agony are resonating against the floorboards. Ichigo can feel them vibrating in every nerve and cell that spurs her being, but she can't get up – can't reach Zangetsu – can't even use hirenkyaku to escape the wiry cage Kyoraku has bound her in.

"Delightful," says the captain. His voice is void of its usual mirth. "You'll need your hands for that."

" _Then give them to me_."

Ichigo is fairly certain he tuts, but her brain is scarcely processing anything over her girlfriend's distress. When her left hand is released from the jagged bind of light, she almost doesn't notice in her efforts to right herself and the room around her. Immediately Ichigo claws at the kido holding her tight – it fizzles when she touches it and scorches a layer of skin off her hand.

"Kyoraku!" she shouts, spitting blood onto the ground.

"What?" he chimes, sounding far too like Urahara for her comfort. "You've got a hand free – that's plenty enough to gain an advantage."

Kido. He wants her to use kido.

"I can't," Ichigo gasps. The confession burns with shame up her throat.

"I thought you said you didn't need it?" asks the captain.

Ichigo growls at her own foolishness. She stops trying to sear her hand off and instead focuses her reiryoku, picturing how Rukia's perfect red shakkaho takes form. Kyoraku sits down next to her because he's a _fucking bastard_ and her reiatsu explodes, but the sun she had tried to form flops like a wave and splatters into the floor.

Again and again she tries. Not one attempt makes the captain flinch. The shadows cradling her shimmer and slide in restlessness. She tries for minutes; she tries for hours. Eventually – though she is deaf to it all – the only sound in the room is her frantic gasps and frustrated curses. The kido restraining her fades away and the shadows shrink back. Stunned, Ichigo falters a second before throwing herself up onto her feet: Kyoraku catches her when she falls and guides her back down to the ground. His hands are gentle now, and clammy with something that might be guilt, but Ichigo pushes him away with a hysterical yell.

Her body collapses into Tōshirō's. Smaller hands hold her now, cold and calm, and Ichigo lets herself be lowered into her partner's lap. Tōshirō's reiatsu quells the tinted flames spitting between them. Ichigo runs her hands over her girlfriend's body, checking for blood and bruises despite the battered state of her own. She doesn't find a single injury.

"Kido can trick the mind," Tōshirō breathes.

"Fuck the mind!" Ichigo snaps back. "Are you hurt?"

Tōshirō shakes her head, her eyes shining truth and her mouth smiling relief. A healing kido lights up her skin in a grass green glow; Ichigo sighs as the split in her lip fastens back together. She is just about to close her eyes and cast away her terrors when Ukitake's voice drifts over;

"Is that _really_ a surprise Shunsui?"

Nobody is fast enough to stop Ichigo from launching over and punching Shunsui Kyoraku in the face. But then, nobody tries to stop her.

Ichigo drags Tōshirō away from the division with the resolve to expand her kido skills. Kyoraku is dragged away by Ukitake with a shattered nose and a proud smile that looks goofy on his blood splattered face.

They never talk about what happened again.

* * *

**9\. AXE**

Tōshirō only turns away for a second, but when her attention returns to the group of individuals she isn't quite hanging out with willingly, she really wishes she hadn't.

"Jesus Christ Ichigo!" Renji is shouting over the top of Ikkaku's roaring laughter. "Put that down!"

Ichigo blinks innocently as she heaves the axe over her shoulder. It is an old, rustic thing, and since they're standing outside the Kurosaki Clinic's front yard and not in some medieval town, Tōshirō doesn't have the faintest clue as to where she found it.

"Oh come _on_ , it's not even sharp," the substitute argues, grinning at her friend's obvious discomfort. Rukia rolls her eyes at the exchange, but the Tenth Division captain notes that she has wisely stepped out of the axe's immediate swinging range.

"Pretty sure you could still take someone's head off if you're not careful," the Sixth Division lieutenant says, eyeing the weapon warily. His hands rise automatically in surrender when Ichigo pulls the axe down from her shoulder and holds it out in front of her chest.

"I'm always careful," Ichigo says. She squints her eyes at Renji, as if assessing the best method of chopping him into pieces. The smile returns soon after, and it is actually the most spirited Tōshirō has seen her girlfriend in a while, which is worrying on several levels.

"Heaven forbid," she mutters, running a hand through her fringe.

Ikkaku shunts forward and beckons for the axe. Though Ichigo is looking rather manic with the massive tool in her hands, the smile the third seat is donning is terrifying and she regards him suspiciously. Tōshirō almost steps forward to demand she – as the only sensible person around – guard the axe herself, but Ichigo moves to hold it out of Ikkaku's reach and says,

"I'm not a complete moron. This isn't 'The Shining' you know."

Renji sags with relief. Rukia hides an incredulous frown behind her hand. Yumichika pats his put-out friend on the back and drags him away from the potentially murderous weapon that Ichigo is clutching.

Tōshirō rolls her eyes and wonders where she went wrong in life.

* * *

**10\. ZANPAKUTO**

Ichigo and Tōshirō often spar in the Tenth Division's largest training grounds when there's few people about, so the roars of Hyorinmaru and Zangetsu clashing are frequent in the early evening. Tōshirō triumphs in her agility and strategy, and what Ichigo lacks in kido and complexity she makes up in brute strength and willpower. It is difficult to say if they are evenly matched or not – often their fights end in a draw, but neither is using their full strength. They spar to familiarise themselves with the others' style and learn where support could be provided, not to outmatch each other. Ichigo has tremendous stamina but struggles to defend herself against long-range attacks, but Hyorinmaru's ice is a light-weight barricade against missiles and projections. Tōshirō is swift at exploiting her opponent's weakness but cannot withstand devastating attacks, but Zangetsu grants Ichigo incredible speed to reach her vulnerable allies.

They learn to complement each other until it is as easy as breathing.

"Here," she says one day, presenting the hilt of her larger khyber knife to Tōshirō. "You think he's heavy?"

The captain stares at her as if she's lost her mind. Ichigo's reach retracts a fraction, uncertain. "…What?"

Lowering Hyorinmaru, Tōshirō acquires an expression that Ichigo's certain she's never seen before. It is an uneven blend of curiosity, disbelief, and wonder, and since the captain is head of the Intelligence and Investigation Division, it doesn't suit her.

"You don't know what you're asking, do you?"

Ichigo thinks of zanpakuto and souls and social norms and says, "Oh." The larger half of her zanpakuto appears to grow heavier in her grip, and she drops her gaze to the chunky, black extension of her being. It is perfect in her hands and she would never ask to wield anything else. Turning it over thoughtfully, the blade catches the sunlight reflecting off of the remnants of Hyorinmaru's power and something inquisitive alights in her. She smiles.

"You think he's heavy?" she repeats, jabbing the hilt in Tōshirō's direction. It kind of sounds like 'I love you' when she thinks about it. The shorter woman wavers; she hears it too.

The zanpakuto is held between them for an eternity.

Carefully, slowly, one small hand eventually reaches out to wrap around the hefty, cloth-wrapped handle. Ichigo lets the blade go without saying anything further and watches Tōshirō's face flicker with emotion. A second passes and then the tip plummets. The captain yelps at the sheer mass of the blade and nearly drops Hyorinmaru in her surprise.

Ichigo laughs and scratches her reddening cheek. "Guess that's a yes?"

Tōshirō neither laughs nor replies with her usual wit. Instead, she looks up at the substitute with her lips parted and eyes shimmering with indecision. Ichigo is just about to ask what's bothering her (maybe offering her Zangetsu was a bad idea?) but then the captain straightens and the black blade lifts a fraction off the ground.

Hyorinmaru swings around, hilt offered to Ichigo.

Drawing a sharp breath through her nose, the substitute runs her fingertips along the blue fabric, marvelling that it's still warm from Tōshirō's skin. The handle is smaller than Zangetsu's in all dimensions and it feels peculiar as she takes it for her own. She doesn't know if she imagines it, but as she offers her trench knife in return for the graceful zanpakuto, a shiver tingles up her arm like the frosty breath of winter.

 _Hyorinmaru?_ she calls, but there is no answer except for Tōshirō's expression elating in awe.

Not that she expected there to be.

But –

In her girlfriend's hands, the dual blades look uncomfortable and large, but there is a shine to Tōshirō's eyes as she adjusts her grip on the controversial hilts. Zangetsu and his twin blade rise gently as they shed their weight; the captain unconsciously rubs her thumb over the cloth. Opposite her, Ichigo lets herself appreciate the refined delicacy of Tōshirō's zanpakuto. A smile lights her rounded features as the silver length gleams proudly at its power.

Perhaps her call has been answered.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed it! :)


End file.
